Boost, honey, oatmeal, and tea. These are the elixirs benefiting my 90 year old friend each morning. For the last week, she has told me the current presidency has upset her stomach, and all the doctors in the world can’t cure her suffering, because they no longer believe in Obama Care.
There is nothing worse than an upset stomach.
We’re not in an IHOP anymore.
“Fart Proudly.” That’s a quote from Benjamin Franklin. Evidently, Ben was a discerning man, especially when it came to gas taxes and Turkeys. Further observing one of our Nation’s greatest holidays, Ben voted for the turkey over the Balding Eagle as our Nation’s symbol of recognition.
Post Thanksgiving, our dog and cat recommended I seek help following the five day stretch of the Thanksgiving feast.
Recognizing my gas being exceptionally offensive during and following the Thanksgiving Days, I have checked myself into a two room flatulence rehab center: One room is for me, and the other is for my delicate, and quite unfortunate, release of, well, farts. Many won’t appreciate my condolences when renting this room following my departure, and for that, I am truly sorry.
Ultimately, we are all human waste.
I just hope I’m allowed back in our house.
Hopefully, she says, “This too shall pass.”
My wife and I officially completed our duty as Americans by casting our votes last week. Fortunately, I didn’t cast them in those, once revered, blue United States Mail Boxes, making certain mail was to be delivered without being stolen. According to the U.S. Mail Box Outlet Barn I use when the rain keeps our local mailmen or women at home, I was told, specifically, not to use the mailboxes outside their outlet because people commonly pour unfinished chocolate milkshakes, including other refuse, from the local McDonald’s into the box after closing time. It made me so proud to be an American. It also reminded me of how proud I am of the two Presidential candidates.
Currently, there are two major competitive series playing out this season of the witch or pitch, depending how you look at it. One remains a Fall Classic, and the other has, decidedly, become a Fall Catastrophe.
Let’s make this simple. Hilary Clinton and Donald Trump wish to run our country. Neither of whom have any respect for one another, in addition to women and e-mails. Important U.S. and foreign policies have vanished, clouded by their adolescent behavior and disagreements. So, let’s take a giant leap to Major League Baseball. Here we have two teams, the Chicago Cubs, and the Cleveland Indians fighting for one of the most coveted of all trophies. They are fighting, civilly, to win the World Series. Yet, they don’t hate each other. Quite the contrary. They want to win at all fair costs, but each team and manager will tip their hats to the winner, recognizing one manager may successfully outwit the other, or his team may just be that terrific on a certain day.
Cubs fans don’t hate or disrespect the Indians, and the Indians don’t hate, nor do they disrespect the Cubs. Both teams, on each side of the National and American Leagues, have fantastic, yet wildly different managers, but equally exceptional at their jobs, AND, they respect one another and their teams. While they are two opposing teams, they are each a fine display of non partisan sportsmanship.
I’m holding my official vote before I make this proposal. If the Cleveland Indians win the World Series tonight, Terry Francona, manager of the Cleveland Indians, will get my vote for President of the United States and Joe Maddon, manager of the Chicago Cubs, will get my nod as Vice President. If the Chicago Cubs win, Maddon will get my vote as President, but only if Francona runs as his Vice.
Due to the fact both managers would agree on not putting up a “Wall” since many of their most talented players couldn’t climb that “Wall” in time for Spring Training, just might make for an amicable political relationship. Or, you may just believe they are caring and competent humanitarians, persuading those in our country to believe it can be better. Just ask the Cubs and Indian fans.
It’s just that simple.
Due to weather conditions and laundry issues, my cell phone has been unavailable for the last three days. Embarrassingly, I reacted to losing it almost as immaturely as Americans kneeling or sitting during the National Anthem. (Those protesting have the right to do so, and I have the right to disagree.) Different story.
Regarding my cell phone, for three full days, there was no calling, no texting and no such luxury. Help me, Mr. Banana Yellow rotary home phone when I need you.
I have currently managed to survive without the cell phone, but it is handy, if used properly…much like fire.
“I enjoy being anyplace where guns aren’t within reach.”
-Author: Unknown (Pretty sure it wasn’t Charlton Heston.)
What can we rely on when our world is in crisis? Where do we collectively join in text embraces when we are sick of political buffoonery or people wielding weapons so haphazardly as a common hammer? When wishing to decompress or even decompose, many choose to seek refuge in our glorious sanctuary of athletic joy. This “season of the sport” couldn’t come at a better time. Put down your weapons for a moment and enjoy the show. We have the Olympics with Michael Phelps and American Vandal, Ryan Lochte. We have College Football and the NFL sneaking around the corner of a baseball pennant race which will lead to a terrific post season. We also have an American and Canadian classic movie, “Slap Shot” on every other channel. For crying out loud, I don’t watch pre-season football, but I love those who find happiness doing so.
I’m tired of bombs, fires, floods and enhanced security at airports. Let’s take a much needed break from terrorism, whether it’s Mother Nature or the guy next door, and focus on these sports, ultimately, making us forget the truth for a bit.
All you other A-holes can read a book.
With my back turned, listening from a distance (my kitchen) to the Republican National Convention, I was hearing a chant which caught my attention. Turning from the shrimp filled saute pan, I swore I could distinctly hear, quite rhythmically, “Al-Co-Hol….Al-Co-Hol…Al-Co-Hol!” After further analysis, they were instead chanting, “Build the Wall…Build the Wall….Build the Wall!” Of course, my first assumption was a bit silly, or was it?
Soon after recognizing my error, I received a text message from my brother, Tom, commenting on the convention’s atmosphere. (This is a direct quote from my brother….no plagiarism whatsoever……I didn’t write one word of this……nor did my speech writer.)
“These are grown up adults at these conventions, in costumes, waving signs that are horrendous. Where is Mark Twain when we need him?”
Precisely. Mark Twain would have eloquently crucified this gathering, whether he was a Trump supporter or not. And, if I may add, he would not have been the least bit surprised if they were chanting “Al-Co-Hol!” because clearly, the vast majority had been imbibing prior to entering the arena. Is there any other excuse for this behavior? I guess I could think of one other excuse, and as an educated American, I will patronize an audience by providing a simple suggestion. Make America smart again.